Aloren (27 page)

“What’s wrong?” he said.  “Why ain’t you yelling?  What’s happening?  The pigs been run out of our streets, hain’t they?” 

I kept silent. 

“Don’t this beat all?” said Willie.  “If I’m blind and you’re mute, how’re you going to show me if there’s any hope?” 

The girl kicked against me, asleep again.

Wille’s breathing was ragged.  I wished I could push his head where I wouldn’t hear it.  Then I tore the letter from my pocket, took his wrist in my hand, and placed his fingers over the wild rose seal.  He made a closer connection than I expected. His eyes went round.  He laughed and said, “I knew you weren’t a saebel.”  And then he grew quiet and all I heard was the lapping of the water. 

***

I put the letter back in my pocket.  I pushed the mattress toward the window, to rejoin the rest of the blind and mute.  Little Daira slept on, unaware, and I paddled us between the dark houses and into the shallows. Andrei cast a shadow like a tower between the two horses.  He took the girl and gave her to me once I had mounted.  She still slept as we rode toward the tavern on the quay, where I though Hal might be. 

Because of the skirmishing at the barricades the quayside was nearly inaccessible––the main streets were stopped up with soldiers.  But Floy and I together made a canny partnership, and we rode down smaller, lesser-known streets and had little trouble.  Ellyned was quieter than I had ever heard it.  Windows were shuttered and doors boarded up, and we went along like ghosts in a ruined city.  

Finally we reached the dirty little alley and the tavern.  The door had been torn from its hinges and tipped across the stoop, and the entrance obstructed by a massive table, except for a small hole at the top, from which, I guessed, a man might make inquiry or point an arrow. 

As we led the horses into a recess, I thought of the window in the little room where Hal and I had talked three years back.  The baby hot in my arms, I pulled Andrei clear of the lamplight, and we crept between buildings, roughing ourselves against the walls. 

The window had a board nailed across the frame.  No light shone from it. Andrei said nothing as I transferred the child to his shoulder and climbed through the window.  He was bewildered, probably, but I felt no sympathy for him and I was glad his face was hidden in the dark.  Once within I reached for the baby––she was awake now, staring quizzically at me––and edged her through.  I felt in the blackness for the door and slid us into the boathouse, leaving Andrei waiting outside.

Candles cast light over a few tables.  Hal’s fiddle played, and many voices sang with it.

The child began to wail.  I tugged my arms from the folk holding me back, and walked up to Hal, who was sitting on a bench.  I placed the girl on his lap and took away his violin.

“Good to see you alive and bossing folk about, Lady Renegade,” he said.  Gwat cleared his throat, and Hal said sharply to him, “You’re better off silent.  Now this”––he looked at the baby––“this is Sal’s girl.”  His voice was sad, and he bounced her on his shoulder.  Her cries turned to gurgles. 

But she balled her fists and screamed when a rumpus walked in from the tavern.  Everyone jumped to surround it, and I saw that half of it was Andrei, face swollen beyond recognition and buried in Haberclad’s black whiskers.  “Found the owl loiterin by the tavern door,” Haberclad growled, stumbling forward.  He’d clearly been comforting himself with a whiskey jar.  “Tryin to listen in, I’ll warrant!  And full of tripe.  Herist this, and Herist that––” 

“Perhaps he’s come to tell us something,” said Hal over the noise.  But no one listened, and beating down my panic, I thought quickly.  I took the baby from Hal’s shoulder and propped her on Gwat’s lap.  Then I returned Hal his fiddle and began drumming my feet on the wooden landing.  My fists found the bench, and the clatter was deafening, but Hal recognized it.

“I don’t think,” he said, “this is the time for Golly Stooner.”  But I refused to cease my pounding.  Finally he got wise and, lifting his fiddle, launched into the old reel.

As I began to dance the shouting faded to silence.  Wille’s rendition of the chorus came unbidden to my mind along with such a glut of emotion that I had no trouble forcing it between my toes and the wood.  I kicked and pummeled at the air, and my shadow guttered.  The dust settled where my feet had been. 

Loosening his grip on Andrei, Haberclad said to the man next to him, “Hain’t never seen
that
before.”  They all watched me, only me, and Andrei frowned behind them, hair rumpled. 

Rather than slink away, he edged to the front of the crowd.  I sank when his lips moved: “Herist’s come.”

With scarcely a thought I hit the ground and grabbed Andrei’s shirtfront.  I pulled him through Hal’s legs and beneath the table. 

Haberclad had neglected his watch.  Having breached the tavern entrance, Herist, Gershom, and Kalka strode into the boathouse.

Gershom had his crossbow cocked and everyone scrambled for weapons, and readied them.  “No blood, I hope,” said Herist.  “We have news for the resistance.  About the Lauriad princess.” 

A mystified murmur filled the room.  “Eh?” yelled Gwat.  Daira was still screaming in his lap.  “Princess?”

“Oh, come,” Herist said.  “Come, come, you must know someone’s been providing you with information. You’ve been acting on it for years.”

“Commander Snake’s gone nutty,” said Gwat.  “Breathin in his own stink, probably.”

“I’ve captured her,” said Herist.  “And I have a proposal for you.”

“Proposal?  Her?  Who the hell is
her
?”

“I have proof,” said Herist.

“Hear that?” said someone else.  “Poor fellow’s got proof.”

“Tell us a better tale and we’ll give you some Tuley’s,” said Gabe.

“Wait a bit––this here’s a right happy little band, Herist, but before you join we’ll have to give you the paddle.”

“She had this on her,” said Herist.  “The King’s signet ring.”  The silver glinted in his hand.  Silence fell around Daira’s whimpers.

“The letter writer,” said someone in a low voice.

I suddenly remembered; I could have bit off my hand for my forgetfulness.

Andrei’s chin was high above my hand, his eyes focused ahead; and Hal’s leg stiffened as I slid my last letter, the letter about Calragen, Ackerly, and the Simargh, into his boot.

“She’s a lass?” Haberclad whispered.  “A poor, brave lass?”

“The King’s daughter,” said Herist. “She said so herself—you see, she can still talk. For now. And if you want her alive and well you’ll stop this nonsense and support the war effort like men.  I’ll wait here until you’ve evacuated the harbor.  My troops are stationed outside.” 

The Elde shifted uncertainly on their feet, a few bows still stretched.  Hal took back the girl from Gwat and remained seated in front of Andrei and me.  Andrei turned his head towards mine, and I pointed towards Gwat, who stood near Andrei.  Gwat hadn’t lowered his bow. 

I gave Andrei’s arm a fierce, endorsing pinch.  He shot his leg out and kicked Gwat in the back of the ankle. 

Gwat let fly his arrow straight into Kalka’s chest.  Haberclad, drunk and hollering about the princess, missed Gwat with his fist and leveled Gershom’s face instead.  Gershom’s quarrel sank into Gabe’s shoulder.  The landing erupted, folk spilled into the water, and Hal slid the babe beneath the table and crawled after her. 

I looked at him, wondering if he meant to hide with us.  But he crawled under the benches to the edge of the dock, babe in one arm, beckoning us after. 

We came alongside him, and without so much as a by-your-leave he pushed Andrei and me into the water. 

I was too shocked to feel the cold.  I stared dumbly as Hal dropped a candle in after us.  “To oil the gate,” he said.  And then I watched as he walked quite calmly down the jetty and locked the squalling babe and himself into the little side room.

The candle bobbed beside me.  I grabbed it, gasping, and Andrei nodded toward the watergate. 

We crept beneath the surface to the gate.  My hand reached up and rubbed the candle around the iron hook, and the rust made barely a complaint when Andrei unlatched it.  We opened the gate a crack, and slipped through. 

Leaving a wet trail, we ran down a back alley.  By the time we came to the horses Andrei was blowing with fury.  “He pried that ring from the dead King’s finger,” he said, dripping all over his white-eyed gelding.  “To unveil when the time was ripe.” 

Hiding my face, I dug my heels into Liskara’s sides.  The wind whipped water from my hair, and I huddled against the horse.  We raced down the silent streets and turned north toward the far city gates, pitting our horses against the dawn.

Twenty-Eight

As I pulled the saddlebag from the log, Floy landed on my shoulder.  “I can stay with you only a little while longer.  I need time to find that tower.  I’ve never been there.”  I refused to look at her.  “Reyna, when will you give this up?  You’re driving the human boy crazy, and––Reyna, will you
ever
listen to me?”

I shook my head.

“I’m leaving to find your brothers as soon as you reach the river,” she said.  I looked about but she had hidden herself.  “And don’t dawdle.  We only have a season left.” 

I shuddered, feeling as though winter were already blowing past.

We acted quickly, Andrei and I, and we’d already come to Sharesdury, in the middle hills, when a press gang marched into the town.  In the space of a morning they’d combed it clean of young men with the aid of a formal notice proclaiming the incarceration of the Lauriad princess. 

Hal must not have convinced anyone otherwise, I thought.  Soon enough I was thinking about other things. 

As it had got steadily colder Andrei and I had just bought parkas, which made us look oddly similar.  Andrei looked older than he was and I looked positively boyish; but as Herist had lowered the age of conscription from sixteen to fourteen, we were mistaken, right outside the furrier’s, for a young man and an exceptionally young man.  Not exceptional enough for the commanding officer, I was pried away from Liskara after Andrei (and Floy) told me I oughtn’t bring attention our way by biting and kicking.  So Sandal did all the biting and kicking, but they took the horses, too. 

I remembered too late that my Marione shirts were tucked in Liskara’s baggage.

***

We were two of about forty conscripts––just one camp in a line moving north.  Only officers and soldiers rode mounts, and Andrei, his hood drawn always around his face, cursed nonstop under his breath as we marched through the first day.  Soldiers wielded their spear butts liberally, and most of us collected welts to tally how many times we’d slowed or tripped.  We hardly ever stopped, and only to relieve ourselves (me in ditches and behind bushes), and though I thought myself tough as cat gut, the pace was grueling.

Around midday an officer rode past us on Andrei’s horse.  Sandal was skittish, shaking his head.  They’d got rid of Andrei’s bags. 

My stomach dropped to my feet, and I started stumbling.  The conscripts on either side pushed me forward, and a soldier knocked his pole against my shoulders, yelling.  I didn’t hear a word.

Andrei half-carried, half-dragged me back into line.  I shoved angrily at him.  “I saw Liskara,” he said, and tightened his arm around me until I was almost riding on his hip.  “And she’s so old and beat-up and useless they’re using her as a packhorse.  They haven’t touched your bags.” 

I didn’t believe him until I saw her myself, loaded with burlap sacks.  My own precious bags were flattened, forgotten, at the bottom.

***

By the third day the autumn rains were pelting down, making our misery three times what it had been.  Andrei’s constant cursing had changed to calls for mutiny muttered into the ears of those around us.  But for a few restless boys who stewed with anger, the men slogged on, giving us a wide berth.  I doubted anything would come of it. 

But on the fourth day word about the malcontent conscript had got round.  A tall man with a hood drawn over his face stepped in line beside us. 

“Who are you,” said the man to Andrei, “that you fear to walk about with your cowl off?  I know it’s raining, and you might ask the same of me.  But it wasn’t raining yesterday, so answer me truthfully and I may take your caterwauling seriously.  If I take it seriously many others will.” 

The wind pulled a blond curl from his hood, and I knew the voice.  Bequen’s husband.  Had he been pressed into service? I caught Andrei’s eye and nodded.

“A human noble,” Andrei said sullenly.

“I see,” said Ackerly, glancing at his eyes.  “And this tale you’re spreading?  That Herist has captured no Lauriad, and we trip on like kine to the slaughterhouse?  Give me sweeter cud to chew, boy, and my teeth’ll fall out.”

“Obviously you don’t believe me,” Andrei said.  I suspected he was too tired to sneer.  “But I scoured the prisons looking for this girl”––he pointed at me––“and unless the princess was hiding in her shit bucket, we could both swear to you there isn’t one.”

“That’s your proof?” Ackerly sounded skeptical.

“It’s not less proof than Herist has.”

“His ring.” Ackerly nodded.  “Which is scant evidence, yes, but we’ll get to that later.  The thing is, you’re human.  It’s likely you’re a plant come to sound us out.  Or just a nasty little fry with an overblown ego.“

A noise rose in Andrei’s throat.  For a nasty little fry he was quite a bit taller than Ackerly, and I rolled up my sleeve and thrust my arm between them. 

Herist’s mark of treason shone in the rain.  Andrei sucked in his breath, and his hood fell to his shoulders. 

The men walked on.  Ackerly pulled the hood back over the Andrei’s head. 

“I recognize you, boy,” he said.  “What in the high hells are you doing here?”  He turned to me.  “You’re convicted of treason?”  He shook with silent laughter.  “If the man had got hold of
me
!”

Andrei’s steps grew progressively stiffer, and my breath came out in short gasps.  “Don’t worry,” said Ackerly.  “I won’t tell.  I have no idea what you’re playing at, but I’ve suspected for a while, you see.  Herist can’t have stolen the ring as well as the writer, seeing as Hal got a letter, sealed and all,
after
Herist spread the news.  And the letter was about my business, or so some of the fellows from the city tell me.  And Simargh, or no Simargh,” he continued, growling more to himself now.  “We’ll oust the fool.  We’ll drag ourselves out of this mess, starting tomorrow.” He stopped for a split second, jerking Andrei back to face him. “And if you’re double crossing me, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.” Andrei nodded.

***

The soldiers were short of horses and Captain Lauderay, the commanding officer, was expecting a consignment of these in three days’ time.  Because the conscripts needed the horses more than the soldiers did, Ackerly decided to hold off the desertion until the night following their arrival. 

He didn’t want a full-scale revolt.  There’d be a lot less bloodshed, he told us, if we silenced the soldiers on watch and took off on horseback before the alarm sounded. 

We were camped near the country’s northern border when the horses came: twenty-five rough-bred rounseys.  And what we had plotted beforehand was rendered very flimsy when Herist came with them. 

He’d journeyed north with trackers to drive a band of outlaws from the woods above Feladol and Cwdro––they’d been stealing food and rustling horses from the northern camps. 

Herist took his time about the business, though, and he wandered around inquiring after the work of his subordinates.  Andrei and I kept to the middle of the recruits, noses to the ground.  We heard his temper all the way across camp.  He was considerably more frazzled than when we’d last seen him. 

***

During the evening meal the recruits ate an unusually small amount of their gruel and boiled tubers. 

Ackerly calmed us some, going about his business like a stalking cat.  A group of us surrounded him, looking as though we were trading and passing around bits of carrot and turnip.  When we split apart he’d already bedded down for the night, a big crock full of leftover slop hidden under his thin blanket.

He’d chosen a bit of ground close to the watch fire.  The human soldier eyed him uneasily from where he ate an apple, wrote a letter on his knee, and shielded the parchment from the drizzle with his elbow. 

Back against a tree and heart pounding, I thought how we might’ve waited a few days for Herist to leave.  But it was too late.  I feigned sleep, watching through my lashes as Ackerly, motionless beneath his blanket, began chanting a popular ditty:

“Captain Lauderay squeaks like a rope

On account of his nose and his love for soap,

For he lathers his nose, then rarin to lead,

Plays upon his nostrils for lack of a reed.”

The munching of the apple ceased, and the soldier’s quill stopped moving.  “Shaddup, you grimy little feck,” he said.  Undaunted, Ackerly sang the second verse:

“We fall into march at his squeaking snout,

As his musical skills cause us to doubt

Our talent for song and our freedom of will,

So we’ll jump like puppets o’er field and hill.”

The soldier walked over to Ackerly and bent down.  He paused to finger the dirk at his belt.

Ackerly popped the crock from the blanket and slammed it over the man’s head.  The mess inside muffled his cries, and Ackerly wrestled him to the ground. 

Three other conscripts leapt up to help, and one of them pulled the dirk from the soldier’s hand.  He sheathed the dirk in the soldier’s back and twisted.  The soldier shuddered under the crock and became still, and stuff dripped onto the ground.  My stomach turned, and I pulled my tunic over my nose.

While other soldiers on watch were being gagged or dispatched, Ackerly walked around whispering, “Two to a horse.”

We got silently up, a few at a time, and crept down the hill to where the horses were hobbled.

Stupidly, no one touched the horses belonging to Herist and his entourage, but the others were calmed and made ready, all except for Liskara.  I frantically looked around the hill for her, nearer and nearer the tents.

I finally found her, lashed, as a testament to her tranquil disposition, to one of Captain Lauderay’s tent poles.  She had a few bags slung over her back, as though Lauderay’s man hadn’t got round to unloading her.  It made me nervous. 

She blew into my hair, and I eyed her ropes.  To the side of her was a bucket, and I stepped gingerly onto it so I might reach the knot at Liskara’s neck.  I took a tiny step forward. 

The bucket tipped.  I fell over it, and a habergeon jangled loudly beneath me.

“Cavid,” said a voice from inside the tent, “are you finally greasing my mail?  Or are you greasing the silver out of my luggage?”   

Another voice, slurred, came right behind me: “Right you are, Captain.”  It grew exponentially louder: “Halloo!  Look what they done to Gamberlan.  They gone and done him––Hey!  They’re making off!”

“Go, go,
go.
”  I heard Ackerly yelling faintly.   “Separately!” 

Too panicked to feel properly guilty, I rummaged through Liskara’s baggage and came across my own saddlebag.  I leaned against the horse’s flank, weak-kneed.

Andrei chose that moment to lurch around the corner of the tent, dragging Sandal behind.  His hood had fallen, and his hair stuck every which way.  But not across his eyes, and two Elde boys, my age or younger, stopped at the sight of him.  They had no horse. 

Andrei picked up the first boy, and earned himself a kick in the groin.  Roaring, he threw the boy across Sandal’s back.  He lifted the other with less trouble, told them to lie flat, and pushed the gelding on his way. 

Knot undone or no, I was lifted next, and Andrei sat behind me, fishing through the baggage for a knife.  Before he could find one, Liskara shied. 

She jerked forward, ripping the stakes from the ground, and pulled the canvas down.  I turned to look at the wreckage, and Captain Lauderay, bright in his nightshirt, jumped from his cot. 

Andrei twisted sideways with a knife and cut Liskara loose.  The horse darted south, bags heaving.  Bracing ourselves, we caught up with the others, who, despite Ackerly’s advice, hadn’t separated.

“Oh,” Andrei breathed down my neck.  I turned my head to see where he was looking.  Herist and his ten men were in pursuit, tearing over the rocky ground, and I saw with dread the longbows rise from the backs of the horses.

And perhaps because he felt obligated as initiator of the desertion, Andrei leaned over me, wrested my hands away from the horse’s neck, and steered Liskara towards Herist and the north.

”What is he doing?” cried Floy, who was flying behind us.  I lowered my head and sucked in my breath, fighting against a holler.

Andrei didn’t bother.  “Come and get us, Commander,” he yelled. We ran parallel to them now, at a full gallop.  “Come and thieve my carcass.” 

At once Herist recognized him.  He wheeled his horse toward us, and his men followed.  The bowmen loosed their arrows.  Liskara tacked round them as best she could, though she was old and tired and any minute I expected to be hit in the back.  But she pushed on as though blown by a heavenly wind, through shale outcrops and long grasses, and into a fir wood.

The air was suddenly close, the wind less sharp.  We were clear of the arrows.  But we had to slow our pace to navigate the trees, and a shadow came at us through the shaggy trunks.  More shadows sprang forward, snapping at Liskara’s tail.  The horse screamed and bolted every which way.